Forced To Be A Cuckold

He watched his cuckolding through the small screen of his phone.

His wife had been unsatisfied for months, for years, it felt. She wanted more, and she was not happy with him.

That is a little unfair. That is not exactly the truth. She was happy with how rich he was. That was one thing. They had even recently bought a Rolls-Royce. Admittedly, it wasn’t bought outright; it would take a while to pay it off. It wasn’t the newest; it was far from new. But it was also not far enough from new to be an old classic. But it was a Rolls-Royce.

He was sitting in that Rolls-Royce right now, in some rough part of town. He did not feel safe or comfortable, but he did feel turned on. He would have loved to get out and stroke it, but there was no chance in a terrace street with his car. He did his best to look like some kind of official driver, which is what he basically was that evening.

She would also not have said that she was unhappy with him as a person. She liked him, found him funny, loved him even. She had never stopped loving him, even though she had stopped lusting for him some time ago. Many years. If she was honest with herself, that had never been his appeal.

In her mid-twenties, he was exciting to be with. Took her places and did things together. She really wanted to marry him, and it was well beyond some kind of chase after money and luxury.

But, when you get to your late thirties, well, a woman starts to realise all of that means very little if you aren’t getting fucked properly. And she had never been fucked properly.

He was a poor lover and had a tiny dick. It seems brutal to put it like that, but if either of these problems hadn’t been true, then she could have coped.

A good, hard dick makes up for whatever else a man may lack in the making love department. And a small dick is not the end of the world if he knows other ways to turn you on. Maybe he can talk dirty so good that you cum from the slightest touch, or perhaps his fingers and tongue do the talking and they make you scream with joy.

But, he’d be the first to admit that he was a failure with both of these. He did not know what to do with a woman, and she was never able to teach him. She did not really know either.

So, only last week, she had sat down with him in the lounger one day, red wine flowing, and told him she was going to fuck another man. She was going to fuck at least one other man. She was not going to leave him, and she did not expect him to leave her.

She said, “You know why I am doing this, and you really cannot argue with it. Can you?”

No, he shook his head and said he understood and that he wouldn’t get in her way.

“However, I do need your help. You know you’re the only person I have ever had sex with. I was a virgin until I was twenty-four, and in some ways, I still feel like one. My friends they talk about sex a lot, and I do not know what to say. They talk about being done so hard that they pass out. They talk about orgasms, and I don’t know what one is. They talk about affairs with younger men, and all I can think is that I wouldn’t want to do that to you. So this is not an affair. Do you understand?”

He was awkwardly silent for a while, but decided that it would be best to agree, even though he didn’t understand the difference.

“What I want you to do is take me to the man I have arranged to see and stay outside his house until I am finished. I will be scared, you see.

“I will also make sure you can watch. I don’t know if you will want to watch, but I need you to watch so that I feel safe if he is hurting me. I will make sure you can get into his house. I know you own a gun.”

This was almost the only bit that surprised him from their conversation because he didn’t know she knew that. He kept it hidden, and it wasn’t a legal gun, so he didn’t talk about it. Guns were hard to get in this country, particularly the kind you only use for self-protection or something more aggressive. Not for farming or a shooting range. But he did not want to question her then. It had been expensive and made him a little nervous to get. Was she going to tell this man that her ‘driver’ had a gun, so that treat her well? How would that help with his performance?

He was so confused.

But still, he had ended up sitting in their car. His gun was in the glove compartment, his phone up against his face as he watched.

She had set up her own phone on a tripod in the man’s room, and now they were talking on the bed. He was young, handsome, of mixed race, strong-looking, and confident. He did not really hear what they were saying, but could see he spoke the most. Then he kissed his wife’s neck and held one of her arms.

He was a cuckold.

He had not known what a cuckold was. He had been innocent of such things. After their conversation together, after agreeing to all her terms, he had spent much of the night lying beside her while she slept, googling his situation, and the word cuck or cuckold had come up all the time.

He had decided to embrace his soon-to-be new status, as this suited him. He felt like a man who was being stripped of his masculinity. He felt that he had lacked a great deal of that in the first place, but had made up for it with status, money, and cars.

There was no doubt he could buy a lot of what he wanted in life. He had never done it, but he could have bought high-class prostitutes and done the things to them that you only see in porn movies. He could have bought those porn stars themselves.

He could have had them deep-throat him. But that would not have been a challenge for them. But he could also have used a dildo on them and push it all the way into their throat or ass or whatever. He could have done anything to them because he could have paid for it. But he was not that kind of guy. He did not have the confidence to even use a vibrator on his wife. He thought he would do it wrong. He was not dominate at all, to try anything humiliating with his wife or a prostitute, something that might have made up for his lack of performance elsewhere.

In fact, as he went through this process of thinking about himself as a sexual person and reading up what it takes to be a cuck, he soon realised that he was never going to do anything dominate because he really wanted to be dominated.

But if that was so, why didn’t he go to a dominatrix like so many rich, powerful, and successful men and get himself whipped? He could lick their boots. Pay them stupid money to spit in his face or to stand on his balls. He could risk everything for this thrill.

But this wasn’t the submission he sought. He wanted his wife to make him submissive, and by extension, now he could see he also wanted her lovers to do it. He wanted them both to look down upon him and use them in whatever way they saw fit. This really meant for him to just watch them. At least that was what it meant right then.

He would be happy if she stayed with him, said she loved him, and went with him when they went on holiday or on important business trips. Otherwise, there was nothing more she would want from her. Well, that is apart from this.

He could feel he was getting more turned on watching than he ever was when he was with his wife. That was perverse in the extreme! He tried to work out if it was the excitement of seeing another man naked, hard, that maybe his difficulty all this time had been that he had hidden his real sexuality from himself all this time, and now it was going to burst through; that he preferred men. That would explain a lot.

But no, that wasn’t it. He did not want to be his wife and have the man himself. But he had been hiding his own sexuality, that was for sure. He was a natural submissive cuck, and maybe, yes, who knows, he could be a sissy cuck in the end. But whatever you wanted to call it or whatever he was going to see on screen, he knew he was going to love it. They hadn’t even taken their clothes off yet. But he could never go back now!

Now he was kissing her. He was kissing his wife with more passion than he had ever been able to muster. He was touching her breasts through the summer dress he had helped her choose for the night.

“You look beautiful, darling. Really splendid.”

“Do you think he will want to fuck me when he sees me in this?”

“I think any man would want to make love to you if they saw you in that.”

“No, I don’t want a man to make love to me, my lovely, sweet, innocent husband. I want men to fuck me. He says he wants to fuck me very hard and that he will show me what I am missing. And that my husband is a useful cockless wonder, who isn’t worthy to lick my boots. Do you think he’s right?”

“Yes,” he had said, quivering at this flash of cruelty. How could her love her being so hurtful? It hadn’t even occurred to him to ask if she felt that way. She rather presumed she did.

“Now, please, go and pay for this dress, and tip the saleswoman heavily, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course, dear,” it was that kind of shop.

And now he was seeing that extremely expensive dress ripped off her body. He was literally making the buttons pop and the seams give way. The dress was ruined. It had cost four figures, and she had worn it for less than an hour.

Was this the moment to rush in with his gun blazing?

In theory, it sounded terrible and looked bad, but he could see his wife loved it. She moaned and squealed with delight. He was going to be rough and forceful. He could never be like that. He was going to take her with no apologies or caution, and she was going to love it.

He was very hard. He squeezed his little dick through his pants as he saw what the man, her bull, had to offer her.